The Dawn Wind

The Fifteenth Century

AT two o'clock in the morning, if you open your window and listen,

You will hear the feet of the Wind that is going to call the sun.

And the trees in the shadow rustle and the trees in the moonlight glisten,

And though it is deep, dark night, you feel that the night is done.

So do the cows in the field. They graze for an hour and lie down,

Dozing and chewing the cud; or a bird in the ivy wakes,

Chirrups one note and is still, and the restless Wind strays on,

Fidgeting far down the road, till, softly, the darkness breaks.

Back comes the Wind full strength with a blow like an angel's wing,

Gentle but waking the world, as he shouts: "The Sun! The Sun!"

And the light floods over the fields and the birds begin to sing,

And the Wind dies down in the grass. It is day and his work is done.

So when the world is asleep, and there seems no hope of her waking

Out of some long, bad dream that makes her mutter and moan,

Suddenly, all men arise to the noise of fetters breaking,

And every one smiles at his neighbour and tells him his soul is his own!

The King's Job

The Tudor Monarchy

ONCE on a time was a King anxious to understand

What was the wisest thing a man could do for his land.

Most of his population hurried to answer the question,

Each with a long oration, each with a new suggestion.

They interrupted his meals--he wasn't safe in his bed from 'em--

They hung round his neck and heels, and at last His Majesty fled from 'em.

He put on a leper's cloak (people leave lepers alone),

Out of the window he broke, and abdicated his throne.

All that rapturous day, while his Court and his Ministers mourned him,

He danced on his own highway till his own Policeman warned him.

Gay and cheerful he ran (lepers don't cheer as a rule)

Till he found a philosopher-man teaching an infant-school.

The windows were open wide, the King sat down on the grass,

And heard the children inside reciting, "Our King is an ass."

The King popped in his head: "Some people would call this treason,

But I think you are right," he said; "Will you kindly give me your reason?"

Lepers in school are as rare as kings with a leper's dress on,

But the class did't stop or stare; it calmly went on with the lesson:

"The wisest thing, we suppose, that a man can do for his land,

Is the work that lies under his nose, with the tools that lie under his hand."

The King whipped off his cloak, and stood in his crown before 'em.

He said: "My dear little folk, Ex ore parvulorum--."

(Which is Latin for 'Children know more than grown-ups would credit')

You have shown me the road to go, and I propose to tread it."

Back to his Kingdom he ran, and issued a Proclamation,

"Let every living man return to his occupation!"

Then he explained to the mob who cheered in his palace and round it,

"I've been to look for a job, and Heaven be praised I've found it!"

With Drake in the Tropics

A.D. 1580

SOUTH and far south below the Line,

Our Admiral leads us on,

Above, undreamed-of planets shine--

The stars we knew are gone.

Around, our clustered seamen mark

The silent deep ablaze

With fires, through which the far-down shark

Shoots glimmering on his ways.

The sultry tropic breezes fail

That plagued us all day through;

Like molten silver hangs our sail,

Our decks are dark wth dew.

Now the rank moon commands the sky.

Ho! Bid the watch beware

And rouse all sleeping men that lie

Unsheltered in her glare.

How long the time 'twixt bell and bell!

How still our lanthorns burn!

How strange our whispered words that tell

Of England and return!

Old towns, old streets, old friends, old loves,

We name them each to each,

While the lit face of Heaven removes

Them farther from our reach.

Now is the utmost ebb of night

When mind and body sink,

And loneliness and gathering fright

O'erwhelm us, if we think--

Yet, look, where in his room apart,

All windows opened wide,

Our Admiral thrusts away the chart

And comes to walk outside.

Kindly, from man to man he goes,

With comfort, praise, or jest,

Quick to suspect our childish woes,

Our terror and unrest.

It is as though the sun would shine--

Our midnight fears are gone!

South and far south below the Line,

Our Admiral leads us on!

"Together"

England at War

WHEN Horse and Rider each can trust the other everywhere,

It takes a fence and more than a fence to pound that happy pair;

For the one will do what the other demands, although he is beaten and blown,

And when it is done, they can live through a run that neither could face alone.

When Crew and Captain understand each other to the core,

It takes a gale and more than a gale to put their ship ashore;

For the one will do what the other commands, although they are chilled to the bone,

And both together can live through weather that neither could face alone.

When King and People understand each other past a doubt,

It takes a foe and more than a foe to knock that country out;

For the one will do what the other requires as soon as the need is shown;

And hand in hand they can make a stand which neither could make alone!

This wisdom had Elizabeth and all her subjects too,

For she was theirs and they were hers, as well the Spaniard knew;

For when his grim Armada come to conquer the Nation and Throne,

Why, back to back they met an attack that neither could face alone!

It is not wealth, nor talk, nor trade, nor schools, nor even the Vote,

Will save your land when the enemy's hand is tightening round your throat.

But a King and a People who thoroughly trust each other in all that is done

Can sleep on their bed without any dread--for the world will leave 'em alone!

James I

1603-25

THE child of Mary Queen of Scots,

A shifty mother's shiftless son,

Bred up among intrigues and plots,

Learnèd in all things, wise in none.

Ungainly, babbling, wasteful, weak,

Shrewd, clever, cowardly, pedantic,

The sight of steel would blanch his cheek,

The smell of baccy drive him frantic.

He was the author of his line--

He wrote that witches should be burnt;

He wrote that monarchs were divine,

And left a son who--proved they weren't!

Edgehill Fight

Civil Wars, 1642

NAKED and gray the Cotswolds stand

Beneath the summer sun,

And the stubble fields on either hand

Where Stour and Avon run.

There is no change in the patient land

That has bred us every one.

She should have passed in cloud and fire

And saved us from this sin

Of war--red war--'twixt child and sire,

Household and kith and kin,

In the heart of a sleepy Midland shire,

With the harvest scarcely in.

But there is no change as we meet at last

On the brow-head or the plain,

And the raw astonished ranks stand fast

To slay or to be slain

By the men they knew in the kindly past

That shall never come again--

By the men they met at dance or chase,

In the tavern or the hall,

At the justice bench and the market place,

At the cudgel play or brawl--

Of their own blood and speech and race,

Comrades or neighbors all!

More bitter than death this day must prove

Whichever way it go,

For the brothers of the maids we love

Make ready to lay low

Their sisters' sweethearts, as we move

Against our dearest foe.

Thank Heaven! At last the trumpets peal

Before our strength gives way.

For King or for the Commonweal--

No matter which they say,

The first dry rattle of new-drawn steel

Changes the world today!

The Dutch in the Medway

1664-1672

IF wars were won by feasting,

Or victory by song,

Or safety found in sleeping sound,

How England would be strong!

But honour and dominion

Are not maintainèd so.

They're only got by sword and shot,

And this the Dutchmen know!

The moneys that should feed us

You spend on your delight,

How can you then have sailor-men

To aid you in your fight?

Our fish and cheese are rotten,

Which makes the scurvy grow--

We cannot serve you if we starve,

And this the Dutchmen know!

Our ships in every harbour

Be neither whole nor sound,

And, when we seek to mend a leak,

No oakum can be found;

Or, if it is, the caulker,

And carpenters also,

For lack of pay have gone away,

And this the Dutchmen know!

Mere powder, guns, and bullets,

We scarce can get at all;

Their price was spent in merriment

And revel at Whitehall,

While we in tattered doublets

From ship to shop must row,

Beseeching friends for odds and ends--

And this the Dutchmen know!

No King will heed our warnings,

No Court will pay our claims--

Our King and Court for their disport

Do sell the very Thames!

For, now De Ruyter's topsails

Off naked Chatham show,

We dare not meet him with our fleet--

And this the Dutchmen know!

"Brown Bess"

The Army Musket -- 1700-1815

IN the days of lace-ruffles, perukes and brocade

Brown Bess was a partner whom none could despise--

An out-spoken, flinty-lipped, brazen-faced jade,

With a habit of looking men straight in the eyes--

At Blenhein and Ramillies fops would confess

They were pierced to the heart by the charms of Brown Bess.

Though her sight was not long and her weight was not small,

Yet her actions were winning, her language was clear;

And everyone bowed as she opened the ball

On the arm of some high-gaitered, grim grenadier.

Half Europe admitted the striking success

Of the dances and routs that were given by Brown Bess.

When ruffles were turned into stiff leather stocks,

And people wore pigtails intead of perukes,

Brown bess never altered her iron-grey locks.

She knew she was valued for more than her looks.

"Oh, powder and patches was always my dress,

And I think I am killing enough," said Brown Bess.

So she followed her red-coats, whatever they did,

From the heights of Quebec to the plains of Assaye,

From Gibraltar to Acre, Cape Town and Madrid,

And nothing about her was changed on the way;

(But most of the Empire which now we possess

Was won through those years by old-fashioned Brown Bess.)

In stubborn retreat or in stately advance,

From the Portugal coast to the cork-woods of Spain,

She had puzzled some excellant Marshals of France

Till none of them wanted to meet her again:

But later, near Brussels, Napoleon--no less--

Arranged for a Waterloo ball with Brown Bess.

She had danced till the dawn of that terrible day--

She danced till the dusk of more terrible night,

And before her linked squares his battalions gave way,

And her long fierce quadrilles put his lancers to flight:

And when his gilt carriage drove off in the press,

"I have danced my last dance for the world!" said Brown Bess.

If you go to Museums--there's one in Whitehall--

Where old weapons are shown with their names writ beneath,

You will find her, upstanding, her back to the wall,

As stiff as a ramrod, the flint in her teeth.

And if ever we English had reason to bless

Any arm save our mothers', that arm is Brown Bess!

      B A C K